


they say it's pretty this time of year

by lost_decade



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Feelings, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, being idiots on a plane, obscure references cos I'm old, q&a pool fun times in punta del Este
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: “Are we dating, André?” Jev asks, slowly and still somewhat coyly, recalling the question they’d been asked on his Insta the day before. He slides his hands around to rest on André’s ass the way he’s done countless times before, when they were still riding the wave of flirting, tilting his head up towards the older man slightly. “Or do youwantus to be dating?”





	they say it's pretty this time of year

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired mainly by Jev's Insta stories in the days leading up to the Punta Del Este ePrix, which were quite something (i.e. Jev and André can't keep their hands off each other, which is a wonderful thing). I've been faffing with this for what seems like ages and still feel like I haven't quite done them justice but here you go. Enjoy!
> 
> Title is from Tumble and Twirl by David Bowie.

“We could try it if you want, you know,” André says casually, fiddling with the catch on the tray-table. Jean-Eric is still looking out the window, giggling to himself about Rene’s dolphin impression, which seems even funnier coupled with the wrath of the guy in the row in front who keeps turning round to glare at them from between the gap in the seats.  
  
The sky is so blue, the ocean so clear below them and Jev feels nicely chilled out, so ready for the weekend ahead. It’s not a bad life, this, travelling with André, it’s not bad at all.  
  
“Jev?” His teammate nudges him and oh, what?  
  
“Try what?” Jev turns to look at him, the German shrugging.  
  
“The mile high thing.”  
  
There’s no trace of amusement on André’s face, his expression serious, eyes lingering on Jev’s. Jean-Eric leans his chin on his hand, smirking as he looks up at André, waiting for him to crack up with laughter. Which he just…doesn’t do. Instead, André holds his gaze, leaning in closer when the air stewardess passes through the aisle with the refreshments trolley.  
  
“She’s not my type,” Jev tries not to panic, glancing at the stewardess and then having to signal that no, they don’t want any more sandwiches. André still doesn’t move away from him, nuzzles his head against Jev’s shoulder.  
  
“I didn’t mean her,” The tone is light but there’s something almost predatory in André's eyes when he pulls back that makes Jean-Eric shudder; he knows they’ve both been pushing it lately, the tease becoming more fun the further they take it, spurring each other on with the flirtation. Jev doesn’t remember when he started to actually mean it and he’s never been quite sure – even with all of André’s showboating and the way the German has taken to touching him all the fucking time whenever they’re in the same room as each other – whether André really wants to or if he’s just enjoying making the rest of the world think that he might do.

“Although if you'd prefer it that way I could be persuaded. Its ages since I've had a threesome. Something so hot about sharing a girl, don't you think.”

Jev's eyes widen, the witty retort he'd been preparing dying on his lips as a score of visuals flood his mind.

“Yeah like you've ever had a threesome,” is all he manages.

André’s lips brush against Jean-Eric’s earlobe, his breath warm and Jean-Eric’s jeans feeling way too constricting all of a sudden.

“You'd be surprised how many people want to go to bed with you when they find out you've won Le Mans.”

Shit. The only time Dan had ever broached the subject of a threesome, Jev had pretended he thought it was a great idea while grappling with horrendous jealous panic at the thought of someone else's hands on the Australian, of not being enough. Not that it mattered, they hadn't exactly been the great catches back then that Jev likes to think he maybe is now. Idly, he wonders if Dan is seeing anyone.  
  
“Well,” Jean-Eric replies, the syllable drawn out, “I think as you have the experience in this area you should start. Tell her how many times you've won Le Mans and see if it works, I want to see this in action.”  
  
“I don't think she'd be as impressed as you were.”

“Was I? I don't think I was that impressed.”

“You wanted me as your teammate didn't you.”

And yes, Jev can't exactly argue against that.

“Just us then,” André continues, “if you don't want to get anyone else involved. What do you think, you want to meet me in the bathroom?”  
  
The arm rest between their seats is lifted up, their thighs pressed together so that Jev can feel the heat of André’s skin beneath his jeans. Is André serious or is this just more playing around – is Jev going to get the piss taken out of him forever at if he tries to make a move and it turns out that his teammate is just joking?  
  
Generally Jean-Eric only takes on challenges that he’s certain he can win and in this case – can he? Even if they did fuck would it all just dissolve into awkwardness after, leaving him in a similar situation to those he’s stupidly ended up in too many times before, wanking pathetically over some memory or other about that one time a teammate looked at him like they really meant it before _sorry Jean-Eric_ and disappearing into the distance. He's definitely overthinking this, except the issue here, now, 35,000 miles above the South Atlantic ocean isn’t just that he wants André to put his dick inside him, it’s the accompanying monumental crush he’s somehow developed. He's completely done for.

André slings an arm around his neck, laughing as he snuggles close.  
  
“I think you should go first,” Jean-Eric suggests, because playing along is easier, whether André is serious or not, “or it might look a bit obvious, no?”  
  
“I don’t think we’re being obvious,” André retaliates, choosing that moment to press his lips to Jean-Eric’s neck, tongue licking over the smooth patch of skin between t-shirt and beard. The ensuing yelp tumbles out of Jev’s mouth without warning, but then to be fair André didn’t give him any indication that he was about to cross the line between groping him and this. In his surprise, Jev’s foot makes contact with the seat in front and if the guy occupying it was pissed off at them livestreaming the flight he’s livid at this new turn of events, standing up and glowering down at them both, a stream of angry Spanish spilling forth before he quite obviously presses the call button.  
  
It doesn’t help that both Jev and André are still creased up with laughter when the stewardess comes back over to tell them off for being disruptive.  
  
They’ve calmed by the time the flight begins its descent, conversation turned to the weekend ahead and the prospect of a wet race. Still, the question going around in Jean-Eric’s head – _did he really mean it_ – remains unanswered.  
  
Or, not fully answered –  
  
“Do you honestly want me to put a ring on it first?” André asks as the miniscule landscape below them grows more life-sized. They’ve had to put the armrest down now but Jev’s arm is laid along it, André’s hand reaching for his and turning it over so they’re pressed palm to palm, sliding his fingers between Jev’s and giving a little squeeze just as the wheels touch the tarmac, dragging them both back down to earth before Jean-Eric can answer.  
  
\--  
  
“We can just do it in the pool, yeah,” André had suggested half an hour earlier, before disappearing back into the house, presumably with the intention of changing into his swimming shorts.  
  
He still hasn’t come back out five minutes before they’re supposed to be starting the Q&A, Jev shrugging at Carl and then lying back down on the tiles by the side of the pool, dipping his foot into the water. Even as he’s trying to relax and enjoy the morning before any media duties really start he still feels weirdly restless – a combination of jetlag and the sense of anticipation, the idea that what remains unresolved might have another level to hurtle to yet.  
  
It’s not even like hanging out with Da Costa has been much of a distraction, the Portuguese driver cryptically telling him to _enjoy what you have while it lasts_ in a way that made Jean-Eric wonder if he was talking about his form so far this season or something else altogether, the kicked puppy expression he’s been sporting for months only easing up slightly when his phone rang with presumably a call from Frijns, given the way he’d Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio’d his greeting. Jev could almost hear Bryan Adams crooning in the distance.

“André, you’re late,” Jean-Eric yells in the direction of the house, eventually getting up and into the swimming pool, the water temperate and soothing against his skin. He rests his arms against the warm stone edge, squinting at the brightness of the sun even with his sunglasses taking off most of the glare.  
  
The door to the house opens and closes, Jean-Eric turning to see André walking towards him, tanned and lightly muscular in nothing but a pair of lime green swim shorts.

Jean-Eric’s fingers pick at the point where the stone poolside meets the grass of the garden, overcome with the need to touch the older man, his eyes lingering and heart thundering in his chest. The German slips into the pool with barely an apology for his lateness, grinning at Jean-Eric as he moves to stand next to him, their arms brushing together in a way that makes Jev shiver even in the late morning heat. André smells faintly of sun cream and coffee, a vague hint of hair gel and if he asked - if he asked, Jev would let him do just about anything - to hell with caution.

“Ready?” André asks in French and Jean-Eric is not entirely sure he is - he’s never done a Q&A with an erection before – even at Toro Rosso.  
  
He rests his head against André’s shoulder for a moment, trying not to think about how much like home this feels.  
  
\--  
  
It’s much later when they find themselves alone again, the rain coming down in sheets, a constant pitter-patter on the roof of the porch. The air is fragrant with the scent of it dampening down the hot earth of the garden and Jean-Eric lets his mind wander, getting lost in the rage of the storm.  
  
“Pretty cool, huh.” André's voice cuts through the thunder, his breath tickling the back of Jean-Eric’s neck. He leans his chin on Jean-Eric’s shoulder, the only point where they’re touching. Jean-Eric fights the need to press back into the heat of the German’s body, half expecting to feel André's arms slide around him, to feel lips on his skin in an echo of the moment on the plane a couple of days before - or maybe that's what he hopes for.  
Another bolt of lightning forks across the sky, stretching spindly arms out over the ocean, Jean-Eric’s eyes trained on it. He doesn't want André to see his apprehension at war with the hunger he has for taking what he needs.

“I don’t remember the last time I saw a storm like this,” Jev says after a moment of just enjoying the warmth of the German’s body so close to his own. “It woke you too?”  
  
“I was already awake - jetlag, thinking about things, you know.” André steps away, Jev worried for a moment that the older man will go back inside and leave this where it should probably be left. Instead, André nudges him along so there’s more room for them both to stand side by side on the narrow porch.

“What things?”

André starts to answer and then stops, leaning forward onto the wooden balustrade and then glancing at Jean-Eric, looking as pensive as Jev has ever seen him. It’s not a look he really likes on André, who suits laughter and mischief almost as much as Daniel does. Did. Jean-Eric wouldn’t really know anymore. But the kind of brooding introspection with which he’s studying Jean-Eric now is new and a bit unsettling - Jev is fairly good at that role himself but on André it just seems wrong somehow.  
  
Jean-Eric wonders if they’re the same kind of things he’s been thinking about himself, the memory of sitting at his teammate’s side at the barbecue earlier in the evening, stealing food from each other’s plates is still fresh in his mind. There’d been a lot of them at dinner, that’s probably the only reason him and André had ended up sitting so close together that their thighs were touching. Or is he thinking that this – if there is a _this_ – is a bad idea, that they should keep it where it is in case it all starts to crumble.  
  
“I think you know what things,” André says eventually, with a confidence that says he’s reached a decision, “you’ve known for ages, right.”  
  
Jean-Eric’s brain scrambles to keep up, hitching on the moment earlier, after they’d done with the Q &A and André had messed around with flicking water at him and trying to take arty submerged pictures. The German had wrapped his legs around Jev’s waist, dragging them both down beneath the surface and putting a thousand thoughts in Jean-Eric’s head about how it would be to be in a similar situation with André but alone, in bed with the German’s weight pressing him down into the mattress.  
  
“What would you have done,” Jev asks, the same sort of tension in him as just before a race.

The thunder decides to make its presence known again at that moment, the crashing of it so loud that it almost feels like the foundations of the house shake. The thunder is, also, the only reason that Jean-Eric practically jumps out of his skin - it’s nothing to do with the fact that André chooses that exact moment to slide an arm around his waist, crowding close and stepping so he’s standing behind Jean-Eric again, holding him. Jev sighs as André lifts up the hem of his t-shirt, fingers warm against the smooth skin of his sides, rubbing circles over muscles that he knows will be imbued with a fresh ache in a couple of days once the race is done.

“What would you have done,” he tries again, closing his eyes for a second and enjoying the touch, the thrill that hits him anew at the sensation of Andre’s breath on the back of his neck not dissimilar to the surge of adrenaline he often feels when the lights go out; calm but desperate to get what he wants. A little scared of the place it will take him to all the same. “On the flight. If I’d followed you into the bathroom.”  
  
“What would you have wanted me to do, blow you – on my knees with a couple of fingers in your ass. You’d like that?”

Jean-Eric has to suppress a whimper, biting his lip as the image takes shape in his mind. “Yes,” he murmurs as Andre’s lips finally touch his skin, soft kisses that make Jean-Eric moan, the occasional sharp scrape of teeth just below his ear. He tips his head back onto Andre’s shoulder, their bodies flush against each other.

André turns them then, pressing Jev back against one of the wooden posts that support the porch, the same look in his eyes as when they were on the flight.

“Are we dating, André?” Jev asks, slowly and still somewhat coyly, recalling the question they’d been asked on his Insta the day before. He slides his hands around to rest on André’s ass the way he’s done countless times before, when they were still riding the wave of flirting, tilting his head up towards the older man slightly. “Or do you _want_ us to be dating?”  
  
André closes the gap between them then, drawing him into a possessive kiss that makes Jean-Eric feel like his legs might give way were it not for André’s grip on him. The heat of his body - of his mouth - is addictive and Jean-Eric surges forward for more, moaning when André’s hand slides up into his hair. They could just not let this complicate things, it doesn’t have to. They can do this and still be good teammates. There’s no point in trying to rationalise it though, when André’s achingly hard cock is pressed against his hip and – fuck, he knows how to kiss.  
  
“Yes - to both things,” André replies, breathing heavily as he strokes through the longer hair at the nape of Jean-Eric’s neck.  
  
“I really fancy you,” Jean-Eric admits, snuggling his face against André’s shoulder.  
  
“Finally some real confirmation,” André pumps his fist in mock celebration, the tension between them fading a little. “Hey, you want to swim?”  
  
Jev is about to say something about electricity and water but the lightning has moved away into the distance and André is already walking off in the direction of the pool, making a show of stripping off to his underwear along the way.  
  
This is infinitely better than flirting, Jean-Eric decides as he lets André push him up against the side of the swimming pool. Jev is the one with his legs wrapped around André’s waist this time, clinging to him as they rut against each other.

Waking up with André snoring at his side the next morning, Jev thinks that Punta Del Este might just be his favourite place on earth.

 


End file.
